


No Gods. Only Fairies.

by limeta



Series: The Gods, Prometheus, and Hercules [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU of an AU, Abraxas Malfoy has 125 peafowls, Everybody Lives, Family Issues, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Multi, Read Retired Prometheus You Cowards, i'm just gonna keep writing aus - rp main story who?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limeta/pseuds/limeta
Summary: AU of Retired Prometheus: Hyperion Malfoy survives.or: Keeping up with the Malfoys
Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Series: The Gods, Prometheus, and Hercules [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629661
Comments: 34
Kudos: 34





	1. Hyperion Malfoy

Hyperion Malfoy doesn’t push his son out of the blast of the killing curse, come readily from his own wife’s wand. No, instead he **_pulls_** him away, falling to the ground and tumbling Abraxas on him – both of them out of harm’s way.

It is like something in Yvette switches off when she sees them both down and alive. A horrified, mourning scream tears through her and she throws her wand away from herself, burying her head in her hands and screaming so hard that the portraits on the walls cover their ears.

Hyperion checks his shaking, terrified son for a pulse and notes that it’s there, that his boy is alive, but he’s gone into shock. He lifts himself up and hugs his son, looking at his wife with such abundant sadness he will never be able to lift from his visage. The boy breaks down into tears and hiccups so hard as he grips his robe that it’s obscene. His words morph from French to English and Hyperion hushes him, ever so gently, telling him that he is here and that he is not going anywhere without him.

His silver eyes track Yvette, from afar, as she shrinks into herself and wonders how she could have almost killed her own husband. Not her flesh and blood, Hyperion knows that the killing curse was aimed for their son. This, he will never be able to forgive. This, he will never be able to forget.

’’Mon coeur.’’ Hyperion’s voice is soothing and it is only because he has used all of his magic into pushing away his turmoil, his rapid, abundant hellfire that dances in his stomach and gnaws at his insides like the worst parasite. Yvette looks back at him and these are the eyes of a woman he has always loved. They weaken him, but he will not allow them this once. This once he will tell her what he must. ’’Irma Black has written me.’’ She has not. ’’She is anxious about the war. I am certain she could use a friend.’’

Yvette understands. She inhales sharply and tries to exhale, to compose herself, but the shakes will not stop, the self-loathing will never leave. She nods, however, and makes her way towards the fireplace, scooping up a palm-full of floo powder, and leaving with a flash. She does not spare a single glance at Abraxas.

Abraxas, who is crying himself into a stupor and on a brink of a scream just as potent as the one that’s emerged from his mother moments prior. Hyperion begins to lift him up, it is easy as the boy is clutching onto him with all of his might. He whispers, only for Abraxas to hear, even though Yvette has gone and no painting would dare go against Malfoy blood. ’’She is **_never_** coming back here again.’’

His son looks at him and there is trust that Hyperion swears he shall never disobey, or break. ’’Dad,’’ his voice breaks as another onslaught of tears overwhelms him and Hyperion wonders if spelling the boy asleep is the kinder thing to do in this situation, at least until he himself becomes composed enough to deal with this all, **_’’Daddy.’’_**

’’Hush, hush. Hush my dearest Abraxas.’’ Hyperion does not spell Abraxas asleep. The boy tires himself with tears and falls asleep on his own. Then Hyperion calls for his most loyal friend: Lord Taren Nott.

’’I have heard things.’’ These are the first words out of his mouth. Hyperion offers him a glass of the strongest bourbon he owns, remembering that Taren fancies it his favourite drink. ’’They are not good things, but they are not incriminating things. From my understanding it sounds as if a great fight has broken between you, and that you have sent Lady Malfoy away? She cannot return to France, what with the war. No one sees this as anything other than a slight squabble between man and wife.’’ Taren notices things that are hidden in the darkest of darknesses, so he asks, much before Hyperion offers up the information, ’’This is not the case, however. Hyperion, we have been friends for years. Our sons are friends. If Abraxas needs to stay with someone until this gets settled, let me take him home with Thoros to keep him company.’’

’’A kind offer.’’ Hyperion says and drinks the bourbon with distaste. He is more fairy than most mages. He drinks for the sake of propriety, but this will never satisfy him. ’’One that I aim to refuse.’’

Taren cants his head as if to say he understands, but it comes off as condescending and full of relief. Hyperion drinks more of his drink and watches as Taren’s drink disappears, as well. ’’Yvette fired off an unforgivable.’’ Hyperion speaks the words into the world. ’’I need your help taking the memory out of my mind.’’

’’At you?’’ Taren gasps, scandalized. He clutches the drink so hard the glass shatters. Hyperion thinks that that’s just a tad too many emotions for someone as usually composed as Taren Nott. ’’No,’’ he voices, noticing Hyperion’s silence and inferring it correctly, ’’at the boy? At her own **_son_**?’’

Hyperion nods to this and says, more forcefully this time. ’’I have changed the wards to disallow Yvette entry into Malfoy Manor. The estate, itself, really.’’ He looks upward at the delicately painted ceiling of Malfoy Manor, with an ever-twisting family tree. Over Yvette’s face a flower has begun to bloom. The Malfoys have different ways of signifying their allegiances. They leave blasting faces off walls to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, thank you very much.

’’Will you remarry?’’ The Twenty Eight’s obsession with blood and keeping the family line pure will never cease to amaze Hyperion. ’’If she is dead set on killing the boy. You ought to have an heir and a spare.’’

’’Mere hours ago, my own wife has attempted to kill my only child. Neither has been dealt with and here you are, come to speak to me about my potential new match? Have you no shame, Lord Nott?’’ Hyperion’s eyes are ablaze with fire so wretched that even the Gods would not think twice about asking for it back. Not that Hyperion believes in the Gods. He has taught Abraxas everything he knows so he may be prepared to be the dutiful Malfoy, but Hyperion is a wild and untamed presence who believes in the King and Queen of Faerie.

Not one family has been in such direct contact with the Fair Folk as Hyperion Malfoy has. When he pierces someone with a glare, they instantly become cowed. The matter is no different with Lord Taren Nott.

’’For the sake of our sons –’’

Taren Nott has always been a coward. This is well known. His son is being raised to become a coward, a follower, and Hyperion knows this, too. So, when Taren speaks about keeping this friendship between them secure, Hyperion needs to only say the following in order to get Taren fully off of his back. ’’There is no friendship between us, Lord Nott. You come to me because I have influence and I can be more reasonable than Arcturus Black. What our children have perhaps may become friendship, but not on our account. This,’’ he gestures them both with a flimsy hand gesture with a hand so pale it may become a whole new shade known to humankind, ’’this is my being charitable. You are to do something for me and I shall continue to be charitable towards you.’’

Taren Nott grits his teeth, cowed properly. He nods his head and asks what it is that Hyperion wants of him. Not needs. That would be the very last straw of this already strenuous company.

’’You are to make an inquiry among the wizengamot what is necessary in order to get out of a binding marriage. Mention no name. I trust you have enough tact and discretion to accomplish this task?’’

Taren nods like an obedient dog. Hyperion sends him away when he hears footsteps above him. His son is awake and he must be there for him.

Abraxas comes down the stairs and it is quite obvious he is not well, but he’s not screaming, so that’s at least more manageable. ’’I do not want to marry Walburga.’’

’’All right.’’ Hyperion says. Not like the Blacks would want to pair one of their own to such a scandalous family anyhow. Now that Hyperion has barred Yvette from her married home there will be talk of indecency and injustice all around. Hyperion does not mind being vilified. ’’Anything else you want to get off your chest tonight?’’

‘’Nothing p-pressing.’’ Abraxas stutters and Hyperion hopes this doesn’t become a thing with him. As selfish as it may sound, he really can’t stand such human fallacies.

Hyperion nods along to this and sings under his breath a song of his childhood. Abraxas becomes attuned to it and moves across the room, closer to him, until he sits at a chaise longue and listens to his father’s lulling voice. Hyperion’s hand outstretches and ruffles Abraxas’ hair, humming louder, with more oomph.

Abraxas soon follows suit. Their voices mix and intertwine alongside their magic and it calms them both, after a time, but nonetheless it feels like a victory. One that only they understand.

* * *

Yvette Mercier is to either leave the United Kingdom or have her soul sucked out by Dementors. It is the only mercy Hyperion will give her. Taren stands by his side, with wizengamot officials delighted to see mistrust in a family of such high esteem. To them this is a wonderful distraction from the boring throes of their aging and dreadful lives.

She accepts their offer and wishes Hyperion well. ‘’Please, I could not give you an heir that befits your family, but, please, marry someone who can. I know I have weak blood. It is because of my ineptitude with the boy that he did not grow into someone worthy of your name. When you do have more heirs, give him some plot of land to tend to his birds and will him out of your will – ‘’

Hyperion does not understand what gives people such audacity to continue to speak to him. He raises his hand to silence her and she does fall silent, understanding dawning in her eyes. Eyes that fill to the brim with tears so fascinating to Hyperion that he stops for a moment, only to ask a burning, searing question that lives in his heart. ‘’How could you love me so much and not him? I married you out of love and if I am ever to re-marry I will do so out of duty and not love.’’

Yvette’s eyes sparkle with beautiful joy to see that she has been given confirmation that her Lord husband has loved her more than any other woman still. Something in her heart breaks then. ‘’I almost killed you, my dearest Hyperion. This was never my intention. I wanted us to start anew, to try and get things right the second time over-‘’

‘’There was nothing to get right. Abraxas is my son if he is not yours. He is the perfect heir that you have twisted into someone afraid of his own shadow and failure. How do you expect anyone to learn if they do not fail, Yvette? Look, you have never failed at anything and at the first sign of failure you take up arms and attempt to kill your own family? There is no perfection, overachiever. I should have your soul devoured for my **_own_** reparation.’’

Yvette’s eyes water and she shakes at the full scrutiny of her husband. His silver eyes have never glowed this fiercely. Vaguely, since the beginning, she’s been made aware that the Malfoys are unlike the rest of the families in Britain. That they are entrenched in the world of the fae, even going as far as to seduce them and be seduced by them. She has expected the same greatness Hyperion exudes to be made apparent in Abraxas, but alas, he has only disappointed her.

There are different versions of greatness. Yvette herself has shown her own lack of greatness by not being aware of such a simple fact.

Hyperion’s face twists into a snarl as he tells her that her things will be sent over by elf. ‘’I have your mother’s address, but I will want for nothing more than for you and your entire family to forget mine.’’

Yvette understands the gravity. She acquiesces. And with this done, a marriage ends.

It should be like any other marriage, if not for the binding oaths of any magical marriage well known in pureblood communities. Hyperion lifts himself to his full height. Taren has looked into ways of breaking the oaths and binds, and succeeded.

‘’Goodbye.’’ Hyperion says, because ‘au revoir’ implies another meeting.

‘’I love you.’’ Yvette’s voice cracks.

Her love disgusts him. He does not tell her, but his grimace ought to speak for itself.

* * *

Arcturus Black does not know how speak with subtlety. A man who aspires to one day hold high position in their Ministry ought to know such a skill. Hyperion is not a Ministry man. He is arcane and wild and fairy-loved. This sort of life does not interest him and he is happy for how cutthroat and frank Arcturus can be: ‘’I speak on behalf of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Your son, that woman’s boy just as much yours, is not fit to be a match for one of our own. Blood will out and hers is unstable blood. Foreign, too.’’

‘’The Malfoys were spoken of the same way.’’

‘’I realise this, Hyperion, but I speak to you as a friend when I say that he will have better luck finding someone else. If you desire, I may ask my wife who she can recommend as a match for your boy?’’

Hyperion says that this is not necessary. It is the closest he will ever come to spitting in their faces without offending their blood. Their inbred blood. The likes only the Gaunts have surpassed.

Arcturus narrows his Black eyes and does not attempt to penetrate Hyperion’s mind, mindful of the man’s skill in this branch of magic.

‘’May young Walburga find love in her next match.’’ Hyperion says and it sounds both as a blessing and a curse. He feels like the fairies of olde who have cursed children for the impoliteness of their parents.

The more time he spends around humanity, the more Hyperion longs to find his ancestors and contact them. Fairies are ageless, but they can be killed. Though, the proper thing to do would be to inform the Malfoy family if any of their fairy ancestors have been killed. As this has not happened, Hyperion has the right to believe that his grandmother may still be alive.

* * *

There is a portrait in Malfoy Manor. This one of a fairy relation of theirs, because even the fairies are considered proper members of the family. In this portrait a woman with jagged teeth and silver eyes holds a babe. Until this moment she has refused to have her painting painted, saying that the leaves have discouraged her from doing so. It is only when Hyperion was born that Artemis Malfoy deigned to be painted. She holds her grandson and poses.

Hyperion looks at the portrait and understands that all fairy portraits have vowed to be silent. That they shall not guide the Malfoys unless directly bid to do so. It is an agreement as old as the Malfoy family line. Hyperion shifts his weight from one foot to the other and says, more for his benefit than anything else. ‘’Grandmother, I find myself adrift.’’

‘’That’s no good.’’ She only says and bobs the baby in the portrait with her, ‘’Hush now, poppet, don’t be rude.’’

‘’It’s as if in my heart exists a whole new rift.’’ Hyperion pinches the bridge of his nose. It is difficult to exist and be there for a son that cannot sleep without the aid of calming draught.

‘’Then fill it.’’

‘’With what?’’ Hyperion wonders. ''My mind is shut.''

‘’How should _I_ know, I am not _your_ fit.’’

Hyperion nods. This is the most he will get from the fae without bestowing an offering. Even this is too much, only done so out of love because he is hers.

* * *

Abraxas goes to Hogwarts as befits him.

Hyperion tells him to be kind to himself. ‘’You have no betrothal to hold you back now. If you find someone you fancy, know that I will allow it – but, given my history, please, be kinder to yourself and choose someone who will not cause you grief how your mother has caused us both.’’

Abraxas nods. He wrings his hands together and asks: ‘’What of OWLs?’’

‘’We have money, don’t we?’’ Hyperion tires of Yvette Malfoy’s incessant need to dominate academically through his son. Hyperion is a creature of habit and routine. He has had an interest solely in Divination and nothing else. Abraxas is much more diverse than he is already. ‘’A jack of all trades, master of none is still better than master of only one.’’

This lifts Abraxas’ spirits. He hugs him. Hyperion always hugs him back and only lets go when Abraxas lets go first. It’s the sort of thing he’s grown up with that Yvette hasn’t. ‘’Be kind.’’ He says, because he remembers what unkindness does to a person – let alone one that may soon deal with the fae. Hyperion thinks of rekindling his relationship with his more arcane family sooner than anticipated. An extra dose of protection around Abraxas might do him well, too.

‘’To the mudbloods, too?’’

‘’Well,’’ Hyperion wrinkles his nose in disgust a little, ‘’if they’re good artists. Fairies steal away muggles.’’

Abraxas nods, well aware of this tale that’s about to come out of Hyperion’s mouth. ‘’Yes, yes, dad, **_Shakespeare_** was stolen away.’’

‘’He was, too. By your great-grandmother. It’s quite a feat. We finally have something to boast about in this family that doesn’t have anything to do with illicit behaviour.’’

‘’Isn’t kidnapping illicit?’’

‘’Shush, son.’’

‘’It is, isn’t it!’’

‘’I said shush now.’’ Hyperion’s voice rises in a playful, bashful manner and Abraxas’ rises with joy at having caught his father.

Abraxas begins to laugh and Hyperion simply smiles.

* * *

Trouble arises when Abraxas sends a letter.

_Dear dad,_

_Do you have any idea how I can catch an acromantula? I need it for something urgent. My new friend and I have stumbled upon something quite ingenious that I cannot write about. Please, trust in your heir and give me any information you may have about this odd species._

_With love,_

_Abraxas_

_PS._ _My friend is incredibly smart. He has invented a spell that takes what I say and puts my words directly onto parchment. Hence there are no mistakes!_

If only Hyperion knew what sort of trouble awaited him when Abraxas brought home that friend. For now, before knowing what horrors lay in this newfound friendship, Hyperion dips his peacock feathered quill into ink and places it to parchment, ready to help out in any way he can.

‘’I better not regret this,’’ says Hyperion, right before making a mistake of a lifetime.


	2. Artemis Malfoy & Sevin Smith

Artemis Malfoy returns to the welcoming hearth of Malfoy Manor. She finds her grandson there and grand he remains! A smile blooms over her visage and it unnerves only the people it intends to do so. Her Hyperion welcomes her and even goes as far as to hug her. The boy always has been more physical than the rest of these unhinged humans. She grasps his form with her claws and whispers, only for them two in this sea of dead portraits: ’’My dearest boy.’’ She regards him then after breaking the hug. ’’You look like nobody’s toy.’’

He bows then to her and proclaims, just as she’s taught him. ’’Not a toy nor a fool. Grandmother, grandest of all,’’ then, a bit of trouble as he tries to match her rhymes, ’’aaah,’’ he looks around the room and offers her a chair, ’’here, have a stool.’’

’’We shall work on this.’’ Artemis grins. There is no room for argument and she sees the relief in her Hyperion’s shoulders as he finally has someone powerful to help him navigate this world. ’’Tell me now,’’ she says as she eases into the offered chair, (rules of hospitality are quite clear), ’’what else is amiss?’’

Hyperion tells her everything, sparing no detail. Artemis grows red as a rose dipped in poison. She clenches her hands into fists and wonders about a world without her grandest of sons. ’’You are much too kind.’’

’’Better than to be unkind.’’

’’No, sometimes being unkind is the only course of action, I find.’’

’’I know you explained it to me once when I was a boy, but would it actually kill you if you didn’t rhyme?’’

Artemis blinks. Her eyes are silver how all Malfoy and Fairy eyes are. She chortles into her hand then at Hyperion’s hopeful expression. ’’Fine.’’ She says. ’’See.’’ Then another one. ’’No rhymes.’’ And then after some time. ’’It is all aesthetics. What do ageless beings have otherwise?’’

’’True.’’ Hyperion says. ’’Free verse?’’

’’Nobody has ever actually tried getting it started.’’ Artemis sighs. ’’Isn’t free verse so half-hearted?’’

A bout of small talk later, Artemis takes notice of an absence. ’’Where is your sister?’’

Hyperion manages to glance upward for only a moment. Artemis does not glance for a moment. She tilts her head back in her chair and regards the twisting family tree. Next to Hyperion’s face is another one, blooming red – whilst on his other side there is a yellow carnation. ’’Where is your sister?’’

’’She married a **_muggle_**. This is disallowed. They burned our homes. They killed our children. Not to mention she did not have any children to spite our family even more. A halfblood is allowed.’’

’’Is he an artist?’’ Artemis simply asks. ’’I would tolerate an artist.’’

’’He makes things out of clay, I believe.’’ Just as Artemis is about to say something in favour of the muggle, Hyperion jumps up as if burnt: ’’But, - but! He’s lost a war against **_birds_**.’’

The Great Emu War is the most hilarious thing Hyperion Malfoy has ever retold a fairy. She finds it equally as funny. ’’Against birds that cannot fly? Well, they must compensate for something, oh my.’’

’’I find myself adrift.’’ Hyperion repeats, this time to the real thing.

She cants her head to the side as if to see through his very muscle structure. ’’Let us drink tea.’’ Is all she says. It is a demand for leaves and Divination. Hyperion nods and tells the elves to fetch them the ingredients. For this practise he does not trust an elf to brew tea properly. Fairy hands have better expertise. While they boil the water at just the right temperature they speak of the fairy world. ’’Ferand is an annoyance.’’ Another fairy relation of the Malfoys. ’’Griselda remains set that only she knows all, what with her flamboyant clairvoyance.’’ The very first fairy in the Malfoy family, seductress of Armand Malfoi. It is said that Griselda gave them the hair, the eyes, and the everlasting fickle relationship with Lady Luck.

Artemis looks down into Hyperion’s drunk teacup. ’’Well, **_shit_**. By all accounts you are supposed to be dead.’’

Hyperion opens and closes his mouth.

’’I promise,’’ Artemis lifts up the cup, ’’this is no skit.’’

Hyperion opens and closes his mouth again.

Artemis asks him if he needs to go to bed.

’’Probably a good idea.’’ Hyperion says finally.

Artemis sits at the foot of his bed and sings to him, lulling him to sleep. ’’I like you so I won’t sing you to your eternal rest. You will awaken, feeling like your very best.’’

Hyperion chuckles, somewhat forgetful how morbid and terrifying his grandmother is. She ruffles his hair.

’’Thank you for coming here.’’

’’Never thank a fae, dear. I could claw your soul out for that.’’

’’You won’t.’’ Hyperion gives her a cocky grin. ’’You _like_ me. And you know the human rules better than most.’’

She pulls back from his grasp and laughs, fondly aware that he knows her better than most humans.

* * *

  
Sevin Smith looks over her farm. In the throes of farm work is her husband, Charles. He waves at her fondly and she smiles, her dimples showing mirth and love. She needs to only turn around and leave her attention elsewhere for her husband to scream in absurd horror.

Sevin whirls around and finds that in the midst of her farm, surrounded by wilted crops, emerges a woman – arrived like a bomb fallen from the sky. Charles does not recognize her, but the woman recognizes Sevin and with such infamous greetings out of the way, ’’Granddaughter! Come and greet your grandmother.’’ Sevin narrows her eyes and groans deeply, aggravated to be brought back into the ever-dramatic Malfoy fold.

’’That wasn’t a full rhyme.’’ Sevin drawled as she approached. She signalled Charles that nothing was happening here that was out of the ordinary. In a loving tone she said, grasping his hand in hers and pouring her magic to ease his restless mind, ’’Dearest heart, I shall send her away as quickly as you bent knee to propose.’’ Charles smiles, somewhat blushing at the memory of their courtship.

Their marriage remains quite a scandal. A Malfoy does not just marry muggles, but Charles Smith has found himself in all the right places at all the right times to woo and seduce Sevin Malfoy, sister to Hyperion Malfoy.

Sevin fixes Artemis with a glare. ’’You came to aid your favourite child and now you come and bother me?’’

’’I favour neither of you. You are older, wiser, and true. Your actions are never in question. There really is no need for any form of aggression.’’ Artemis opens up her arms as if to show her lack of combatative motivation. Sevin narrows her eyes and sneers that this is all some sort of farce and that she demands for Artemis to leave.

The fairy’s eyes glow silver and at the sign of the threat so do Sevin’s. She draws her wand out from her overall’s pocket and presses it hard against Artemis’ throat, all but snarling. ’’This is my domain. I am not going to be mocked and attacked on my own land. Remember, grandmother, I am not your precious Hyperion.’’

’’His wife has tried to kill their son.’’

’’Did the boy live? I have never met him, but I wish him no ill-will.’’

’’He has won.’’

’’Good.’’ Sevin’s hair untangles from her ponytail and curls at the end. Platinum, unlike Artemis’. Malfoys inherit their complexion from the first fae. It is a way to mark them as hers, whenever she may deign to enter the human world to visit. ’’Why are you here?’’

’’Hyperion asked to see you. I volunteered to bring you.’’ Artemis grits her fangs and gnashes them against her other teeth. Her hands curl into tight fists, white blazing bone for knuckles.

’’I am not a child you can steal away. I owe Hyperion nothing. Abraxas I may help if he is indeed in trouble, as every aunt owes their nephew one favour – otherwise I have nothing to say or do with a family that discarded me first.’’

Cowed and left with no other alternative, Artemis grabs Charles’ sleeve, sinking her claws into his flash, and disappears from the farm’s soil.

’’MOTHER ** _FUCKERS_**.’’ Sevin surges into her home to find a portkey. ’’Bastards, fiends, idiots, selfish pricks – can’t leave me on my farm in Australia like I deserve – my husband doesn’t want to kill me or my offspring because I chose the perfect man – damn it - fuck – CIRCE AND ALL OF HER SERVANTS GIVE ME STRENGHT!’’

* * *

  
Abraxas Malfoy, adled with the freedom to choose his own friends and his own love interests – finally spots Tom Riddle. Doesn’t see him through Walburga’s hateful eyes, but through his elated eyes on the other hand.

He’s in the library and chewing on his quill intently as he reads a book about this or that. Abraxas doesn’t care very much for it. OWLs are months away and there’s no need to ruminate over them. Perhaps with his mother still in his life he might become paranoid and anxious about his results, but his father says he just cares if Abraxas gives it his best try. His best is enough for him.

How does a mudblood named Riddle command magic so expertly, though? It’s always bothered Abraxas and he makes his way to Tom Riddle’s table and sits down without asking, casting shadow over the parchment he’s writing down notes on. Tom Riddle scowls, openly, forgetting to mask his emotions when dealing with someone he is accustomed to shout slurs at him alongside Walburga. Brown eyes scrutinize them and Abraxas feels abundantly **_seen_**. It’s a strange sort of feeling, being precieved like this.

’’Wot do you want, Malfoy?’’ Tom Riddle demands to know, not accepting anything other than the simplest truth.

Abraxas can lie, of course, and say that he wants OWL tutoring, or that he’s curious, or that he’s bored – but, really, all that manages to come up as explanation is the following wreck: ’’You look lovely. Could we push aside our differences and begin over?’’ He outstretches his hand to Tom Riddle, remembering how mudbloods interact with each other and shake hands (very uncivilised, purebloods bow and curtsy to each other to show respect).

Tom Riddle looks at the appendage and wrinkles his nose in obvious discomfort. ’’Miss Black put you up to this?’’

’’We’re not betrothed anymore as you’ve heard.’’ Abraxas rolls his eyes and enjoys as Tom Riddle has obviously not heard the hottest gossip. Abraxas will gladly fill him in by leaning forward and conspiratorially whispering: ’’My mother tried to kill me. Apparently by the misdeeds of one’s parent they are deemed unfit a character. Therefore,’’ his lips pull back in a smile as he watches Tom Riddle grow hot and bothered to be in such close proximity to him (to anyone, really – a social creature he is not – or, at least, never when it comes to Slytherins who have casted him out and singled him out because of his silly name and horrendous second-hand robes) ’’Walburga Black wants nothing to do with me. I get to pick and choose my own company.’’ Then, merrily, ’’You did almost be my friend – on the train, remember! It was ages ago, of course, we weren’t even sorted yet. You looked interested to be my friend. Let’s start over. My name is Abraxas Malfoy.’’

Tom Riddle picks and chooses his words with extreme care, never wanting to let anything slip that shouldn’t. It is a stark difference to this previous paragraph from Abraxas, so when he speaks, it is with caution. ’’Tom Riddle.’’

Abraxas scoots over so he’s sitting next to Tom Riddle. ’’What are you reading?’’

Tom shows him the book. It looks incredibly boring. Abraxas tells him as much. Tom Riddle grows affronted then and begins a tirade about how this book is not boring, but is actually quite useful and if he deigned to get off of his high horse he might better understand the material.

Abraxas enjoys it when Tom speaks in paragraphs – makes this friendship a lot more equal.

Tom does not notice, too invested in his speech, how Abraxas’ smile shifts into something much more fond as time goes on and the librarian comes in to kick them out for being unruly in a library. Tom Riddle’s face pales and he stammers on about it not being his fault and that he’s terribly sorry.

Abraxas, neither a prefect nor a good student at all, leans on Tom Riddle (ignoring, but cataloguing the flinch the shorter boy makes), and yawns. ’’Yes, yes, I asked for tutoring. I don’t seem to understand a single thing, you know.’’

Tom Riddle glances back at him, disbelief colouring his face in (not very well, disbelief seems to have gone out of the lines).

The librarian tells them that this better not repeat. ’’Mr. Riddle, I will not tolerate foolishness from an outstanding student like you.’’ For Abraxas Malfoy she does not have anything kind to say, so she does not speak.

Abraxas grabs hold of Tom Riddle’s arm and drags him away. ’’Let’s go to my favourite tree. They say you can communicate with the Fair Folk through it.’’

Tom Riddle manages to grab his book and hug it close to his chest as he allows Abraxas to lead the way. He does so in silence, not knowing how to exactly react to Abraxas Malfoy. It doesn’t make any sense why he would want to speak to him. ’’Were you hit with some spell in the head, perchance?’’

’’Ah, no. But, really, when you almost die a lot of your priorities shift.’’

At the topic of death and dying, Tom Riddle grows silent and scared. He tries to hide it, and he almost succeeds. Hearing of Abraxas’ tale makes him want to get his hands on the Restricted Section all the more.


	3. Ferand Malfoy & Charles Smith

The Malfoys being fair skinned is a silly attempt at a joke about Fairness from the point of view of a pun-favouring fairy. Her name shall not yet be uttered. The name that shall be uttered in this segment of the story happens to be: Ferand Malfoy.

Not many things are known about Ferand Malfoy, but the things that are known leave the know-er scared for their life and apologetic to have ever asked. Though, Sevin Smith (nee Malfoy), isn’t one to be afraid of her own family members, no matter their intimidating nature.

Ferand Malfoy is the only fairy relation that has married INTO the Malfoy family without being female _or_ female presenting for that matter. Not that fairies believe in such things to begin with. That’s a wholly human construct they’ve adopted to better fuck with them. Know thy plaything and all that.

Those that are aware of the existence of Ferand Malfoy speculate that he has taken on the Malfoy name due to his burning love to the then Lady Malfoy. This is terribly romantic and there is no room for romance in the world of the Fair Folk. The true reason has dealings in convenience and salvation and True Names. Ferand’s only way out of someone knowing his True Name and wanting to bind him was to change his name into something different.

Lady Malfoy remains ever so kind to have offered up her family’s name to drape across Ferand’s shoulders.

For those asking, why - oh – why is Ferand Malfoy being mentioned?

Well, one reason in _particular_ actually:

Sevin Smith points an ornate dagger at a fairy tree and threatens to butcher it unless she gets to speak with her great-something-grandfather. It’s so terribly lovely. Oh the throes of family life. Ferand shows up post haste. His ears are pointed like spears to the sky and he tilts his head just so that makes even the most powerful foe think twice about speaking.

’’Hello.’’ Ferand breaks the silence first.

Once this silence is broken, it can never be mended. ’’ ** _Artemis_** has gone out of her way to ruin my sanity by stealing my artist. I summon you –’’ Sevin takes out a box of chocolates out of her overall’s pocket (enchanted, of course) and offers it to Ferand, ’’and pay you for your services in retrieving my husband for me.’’

’’These better not have any jello.’’ Ferand simply says and digs into the chocolates, savouring each taste and revelling in the textures chocolates offer. A shudder courses through him and he loves the beautiful feeling they leave him stranded with. He attacks the chocolates how one would attack a wounded animal – easily, messily, craving a violence nestled deep in his heart.

’’I found them especially for you. As you are aware I do not partake in excess.’’ Sevin knows that her family is weak willed and at any sign of excess they will drown themselves in, as well as the whole world around them. For some the excess is gambling, for some it is alcohol, for some like Sevin it can be sweet things – for some, on the other hand, it can even be something dangerous like white powder that could lead to a confrontation in Ministries with Ministers that would later lead into wars and mistrust. A Malfoy is so terribly easy to succumb to excess. Sevin does not. She is a Smith now.

Ferand grins down at Sevin and takes her hand in his, swinging her around the tree which she has threatened. Trees are not to be touched, especially those known to have occupied a fairy at this point or other. Sevin follows his movements and tells him, after the third or so swing, that she will not participate in a dance with him for eternity. ’’I know what you did to your Malfoy bride. Her soles were worn out and bloodied. Bone stuck out form places that shouldn’t. They say her screams have still not died down. I can only imagine what it is like to die by dancing right after giving birth.’’

’’She thought to control a storm of lightning with precision.’’ Ferand sighs and twirls Sevin one last time before allowing her to step away, ’’Twas a poor decision.’’

’’On her part.’’ Sevin snorts. ’’On your end it was entertaining to watch the life of the mother of your children die.’’

’’A fairy does need a human bride.’’ Ferand says: ’’There can be no greater pride.’’

’’If biddable enough for the likes of you, you mean to say.’’ Sevin halts her voice then and rubs her shoulders in cold.

’’Entertainment exceeds being biddable.’’ Sevin takes a step backwards and crunches over a branch. Ferand continues speaking. ’’Careful now, make your step stable.’’

Sevin crosses her arms then and hisses. ’’I am aware of what you can do. You will get more chocolates after bringing my artist husband back.’’ Careful not to Name him and lose him forever. The fairies are only kind to those of their own blood, if however distant.

Ferand inclines his head to nod. A series of jagged fangs protrude in his smile. Sevin controls her impulse to flee. This is not Artemis who plays human games. This is Ferand who makes humans play games.

’’Two boxes.’’

’’I want him unharmed and mentally the same as he is now. Do not play with him. Do not speak with him with the intention to hurt or manipulate him. Do not offer him anything.’’

 _’’Five_ boxes.’’

Sevin and Ferand shake hands. The reason why witches and wizards find it ill-fitting to shake hands is because the only appropriate time to shake hands is when one is dealing with the arcane, or about to swear an unbreakable vow. Muggles shaking hands at any given function throw them off due to this specific difference in culture. Some purebloods have forgotten the old practises and think muggles are animals for not bowing or appropriately greeting their betters.

The Malfoys, on the other hand, remember the old rites. How can they not when their family is entrenched with the very same ancient beings who were once upon a time called gods and feared just the same as Christians fear their all-encompassing god and his judgement.

’’Are you not going to see your brother?’’ Ferand asks. Everyone knows who Hyperion Malfoy is. At the birth of each Malfoy the Three Fair Folk come to see what will behold each child. A reason why Sevin has not had children. Another reason is because they’re ugly and needy and if she wants to remain in the company of something ugly and needy she needs to only look at Irma Crabbe and remain steadfastly on this island of pureblood obsession.

’’No.’’ Sevin finishes the rhyme and silences Ferand. ’’He is much too big of a bother.’’

’’Have you met the peacock?’’ Ferand asks.

’’I have not.’’

Ferand shifts his weight from one foot to the other. ’’He is the only one we have never seen.’’

’’Why?’’

’’Hyperion never called us, it was a bit of a shock.’’

’’Why would he never call you to see the boy? He is heir to a family SHE has brought to life.’’

’’Sooner or later we would have seen him, I am certainly keen.’’

’’Are you asking me to come with you?’’

’’I do not ask.’’

’’Because the answer is no.’’

Ferand whines. Sevin narrows her eyes. ’’I cannot believe you.’’ Then, on a whim. ’’Am I your favourite? Artemis has Hyperion.’’ Sevin twirls the ornate dagger in her hand. ’’You gave me this.’’

’’I give no gifts, little nagger. You traded me your ability to smell for that dagger.’’

’’Yes, then mama made you give it back.’’

’’It was, ’’Ferand mimics the late Lady Malfoy’s voice in pitch and audacity, _’’Absolutely incomprehensible and unfair, if you are to deal with children then deal with some that understand the stakes_ ’!’’

Sevin snort laughs. ’’I kept the dagger.’’

’’It suited you.’’ Ferand comes closer and places his hand on Sevin’s shoulder. ’’It still suits you. Why not come with me to cut down your brother? If he has truly become such a bother.’’

Sevin hesitates. ’’He is my younger brother, Ferand. I do not expect you to understand what it’s like to love someone and equally loathe him in the same, if not stronger measure.’’

Ferand places his head on her shoulder and sniffs her hair. ’’Strawberries in this time of year?’’

’’It’s just shampoo you wretched creature.’’

’’Do not insult me, you simple deer.’’

’’Deer, am I now? I thought myself a little nagger.’’

Ferand falls silent, contemplating. Sevin sighs and manoeuvres her hands and his so they may get one last dance out of their conversation. ’’Why do you call him a peacock, Ferand?’’

’’He has peacocks.’’

’’Ha, I suppose someone has to take after great-great-grandmama.’’

’’Didn’t she have crocks?’’

Sevin boasts. ’’A-ha! Not a perfect rhyme!’’

Ferand twirls her so hard then, in retribution that Sevin almost spills her lunch. She does not give him the satisfaction, laughing herself silly at his gaffe. ’’She had about fifteen alligators.’’

’’About?’’

’’Well, one of them turned out to be an animagus she kept about as a pet. I never went into it.’’

Ferand raises to his full height and proclaims that she is stalling. He asks her if she will come with him or continue to busy herself with dallying.

‘’Fine!’’ Sevin allows to be transported in full to Malfoy Manor. ‘’Only since I don’t trust you to do a proper job of retrieving my husband.’’

Ferand hisses something foul. Sevin sticks her chest out further and grins, their smiles the same under the light of deception and scheming.

* * *

Abraxas’ continued parlay of death does not bode well for one death-fearing Tom Riddle. He hastens to make progress on his search for immortality and finds just what he needs. But he first needs to get rid of Abraxas Malfoy and choose an acceptable victim. To be fair, he does fancy the attention. As odd as it may be to actually speak to an uncensored Abraxas Malfoy.

‘’I have about ten peacocks right now, but I plan on getting peahens, too, in order to make a whole family. You know,’’ he is still badly coping with his almost dying at the hands of his mother, ‘’I am going to live vicariously through my peafowls if I cannot have a kind family of my own. Not that my father isn’t perfect – oh, he’s trying his very best, of course!’’

Tom Riddle, an orphan, absolutely enjoys getting these sorts of questions from Abraxas. ‘’What’s your father like, Tom? Wait, oh – oh, no, - I am so, so sorry. It was not my intention to insult you. I had forgotten. **_Aaah_**.’’ That last word does reach a good half a minute. Tom Riddle wonders if Abraxas may become an opera singer with that lung span.

Tom looks at the book that goes into vague detail (the most detail any book he has ever held) about the creation of a horcrux. His hands shake as he flips through the ritual, noticing how little Abraxas cares for the written word. ‘’What do you write in that diary of yours all day long?’’ Abraxas points to the diary sticking out of Tom’s robe pocket. With one hand he pushes it all the way inside from prying silver eyes (that, Tom does concede, look beautiful outside when there are no clouds and the stars may sparkle down on them both).

‘’Come now,’’ Abraxas leans on Tom (and it is so easy, Abraxas is a quidditch player, his muscles lean and his body a temple whereas Tom has to put a couple of stones in his pockets when the wind picks up in these Scotland highlands). ‘’Tell me, please, please – oh pretty please!’’

Tom tries to angle the book that does not interest Abraxas at all so even by sheer accident that he does decide to read he does not see the contents, all while trying desperately not to alert the Librarian that something is occurring in the restricted section (how easily Abraxas has procured them both permission slips astounds Tom to this very day, all the little lord has had to do is bat his eyelashes at Slughorn and **_demand_** ) Most certainly a different man entirely to the one Tom Riddle’s gotten to know the previous years at Hogwarts. Abraxas’ confidence is intoxicating. It is why he finally lets go and says, through gritted teeth and embarrassed half-words: ‘’It’s –it isn’t anything – it’s just _poetry_.’’

Abraxas’ eyes spark something divine in that restricted section. Tom Riddle finds his knees weak. ‘’What _kind_ of poetry?’’ Abraxas leans closer, well aware of the things he does to Tom Riddle – whose face has gone Gryffindor red by this point (not Weasley red, as that’s not nearly as potent in sheer embarrassment and horrible humiliation and disgustingly saccharine butterflies (parasites!) that have formed a nest in Tom’s stomach)

Tom, in the name of that religion that Mrs. Cole’s tried her most ardent to make him believe in, pushes Abraxas away with a book and tells him: ‘’Stop this. Your behaviour is intolerable and as prefect I am eligible to take House Points away.’’

Abraxas tilts his head to the side simply. ‘’All I have done,’’ he knows what he’s doing! He has to know! Tom Riddle knows that Abraxas knows! ‘’is ask what kind of poetry you write. Forgive me,’’ that voice has no business dropping that low, those eyes have absolutely no business looking at him like he is prey – Tom Riddle’s the goddamn devil child of Wool’s orphanage – he is the predator – he – HIM – NOT – NO – **_FUCK_** – ‘’if that seems to have offended you. That is the _farthest_ thing from my mind.’’

‘’And,’’ Tom Riddle thinks of the muggle world, thinks of imprisoned men and women who have dared to partake in what he is about to do (if Abraxas’ attention is any indication at all, damn him, curse him). He wets his lips and tries to calm his mind that whirls with a thousand thoughts that all make him hate this position yet relish in it all the same, ‘’what is on your mind right now, Abraxas?’’ It is only fair, is it not, to call your friends by their given name? How strange, odd, wonderful it is to have his tongue roll those foreign syllables – much kinder than Mr. Malfoy has ever felt.

Abraxas gives him a grin, wild and untameable and surviving. Tom Riddle wishes to achieve immortality and become a God, to ascend to a place beyond mortal coil – but when he looks at Abraxas Malfoy he is reminded that there is something keenly different to Gods. Something so entrenched with magic that reminds one very much where their place in the world is.

‘’I could tell you.’’ His breath is gasoline, yet Tom Riddle feels himself burning like cinders and finds that this combination is quite deadly, indeed. ‘’Or,’’ Abraxas nears so they are inches from each other, ‘’I could show you.’’

‘’You are more of a man of action –‘’ Tom Riddle tries and fails spectacularly to be subtle about his curiosity, yet Abraxas delights in his words all the same. Abraxas cups Tom’s face in his hand and tilts him perfectly, and Tom is grateful for it – he has no idea what to do feeling like a vampire caught in dawn – London has left him ill prepared for anything other than crude obscenity. The kiss itself isn’t anything spectacular, but the fact that he’s doing it –the fact that he’s doing this with Abraxas fucking MALFOY of all people – too – oh – well – rather – it’s quite –

DEVESTATINGLY HORRIBLE.

From the corner of Tom Riddle’s eye he manages to catch sight of a FIEND.

Walburga Black. She wolf-whistles.

Abraxas stops his hands from going someplace else and his lips from delighting Tom in different ways in order to turn towards Walburga. ‘’Jealous much?’’ Is all he says, baring his teeth.

Walburga laughs. ‘’Not at all, almost-husband. It’s just a bit sad, isn’t it – to be **_slumming_** it.’’

‘’I’m not slumming.’’ Abraxas says. He adds something that explains nothing yet everything. ‘’Tom is a poet.’’

‘’Oh _really_?’’ Walburga asks to see the poetry. ‘’Papa says that the Malfoys, at any point of struggle, flock to fairies for guidance. That they revert to savages who pick artists and wordsmiths as their companions. I must say, I am intrigued.’’

‘’Are you intrigued because I have stopped showing an interest in you or are you intrigued because I have shown it to someone else? Someone you deem undeserving of my attention?’’ Abraxas pushes himself away from Tom, who is stricken and does not know how to conduct himself. This is a horrible way to feel, but he yearns for control and when pitted in between the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the Wild Malfoys of Faerie it is a disgustingly difficult endeavour to hold himself together.

‘’You’ve changed. Something has overcome you. Next thing I see you are hanging about the likes of mudblood Riddle. I am bound to become suspicious.’’ Walburga says, her head held high as she regards Abraxas and Tom’s precarious position. ‘’I must check if he has put something in your pumpkin juice. I know we are not betrothed any longer, but I do care for you.’’

Abraxas snorts. ‘’You want to fuck Riddle. Eileen’s said so. You admitted it during a round of Veritaserum or Imperio.’’

Tom interjects here, the poor lad that he is. ‘’Imperio? People are imperiusing each other for fun?’’

‘’Most opt for veritaserum, as you can tell. It’s rather an unfair game.’’ Walburga explains. She crosses her arms and seethes. ‘’I do not want to **_fuck_** Riddle. I want to break him. Here you are, being seduced by the likes of him. This is not what Abraxas Malfoy does. He is an obedient -’’

‘’I am not obedient any longer! I am free, in fact, of you – my mother – all expectations – Father’s told me as much. He doesn’t care! We don’t even believe in the Gods - we’ve pretended about that, too.’’

(Abraxas, during one of his moments of horror that his mother has tried to kill him, finds Hyperion in his study, cursing under his breath about the likes of business that should not take up his time, the audacity of purebloods that have only ever interbreeded like malformed horses. Purebloods, in Hyperion’s opinion, have lost all manner of foresight about familial duty. Creatures are infused with magic, fairies are magic itself – there is a difference and to think both inferior to humankind is an ill-dealt hand to speak into the world.

Hyperion looks at Abraxas and asks him if there is anything on his mind. ‘’Anything else other than Walburga?’’

Abraxas shifts his weight from one foot to the other and speaks carefully, wringing his hands together. ‘’I’ve yet to see you light an offering or pray or prepare for Samhain – I know it is not until months from now, but still – even Midsummar went – well , I always did it with m-mother. The only times you’ve ever accompanied me during the rites is with Samhain. I,’’ Abraxas laughs, somewhat strangled, ‘’I’ve come to associate the entire night with you, actually.’’ He falls silent and notices with what discomfort Hyperion listens to all of this. ‘’I dreamt that I survived and you’d died, dad.’’ Tears begin in Abraxas’ eyes. ‘’That I would only ever feel your presence during Samhain and I’d become **_obsessed_** with it.’’ 

‘’There is no need for obsession about rituals that I do not believe in. Not as ardently as everyone in your life does. The Blacks and the Lestranges and the Notts believe and cling to their beliefs. They have altars in their homes for their ‘domesticated’ gods – Greek, Nordic, Slavic, Sumerian or otherwise. For the sake of propriety, more than anything, you’ve seen me be a part of these rituals. How one might go to the opera and talk about the performance with like-minded, powerful people. If you wish to honour me, you would be wise not to put my name in the same basket as you do these rituals. I am not fond of them. This is not to say that you cannot be fond of them. Of course you can!’’

Abraxas blinks. ‘’Does, does it mean that we do not believe in anything?’’

‘’Once you meet beings as powerful as fabled gods themselves, you begin to lose interest in the intangible. My grandmother could wield magic unlike anyone I have ever seen. I am of the belief that that which I can see and understand takes precedence to that which I find I have to imagine.’’

‘’What about Walburga, she says that Hades has spoken to her through phenomenon and and –‘’

‘’Then more luck to her. I do not believe in such things and she does. This is where this conversation ought to end.’’

‘’I’ve never heard anyone. Fairy or otherwise.’’ Abraxas says with a curled lip in distaste.

Hyperion stills. Then he clicks his tongue. ‘’That is partly my fault. I never called them when you were born. Too frightened of the things they may say about your future. Mine was not bad, but Sevin’s was horrible. That’s, that’s your aunt.’’

‘’You never mention her.’’

‘’She married a muggle and fled to Australia. You know that little baby koala toy you have that doesn’t do anything how your magical toys do – yes, she sent that.’’

‘’Huh. So I don’t have to believe in anything? There is no greater higher power?’’

‘’Well, there are so many. You can just pick whatever resonates the most with you.’’

‘’Thanks, dad!’’ Thus the ‘I fear no God or Gods’ Abraxas Malfoy begins his journey into the world, full to the brim with confidence and bravado and a keen interest in getting it on with handsome, repressed boys in the library.)

Walburga hisses as if burned. Tom, a bit on the fence about there even being a God or a series of gods, does have a lot to think about on this matter. He does not interject to this masterful conversation between known bully Walburga Black and very-well-known side-kick Abraxas Malfoy. Who has, recently, grown a pair and has decided to do whatever he pleases.

The confidence is intoxicating. Tom Riddle has his book. He remembers most of the incantation – or – er – he hopes that he does. He opens it up again to reread the section he’s curious about and gets the book accioed by Walburga. She shouts, rattling the books off of their shelves in a thundering hailstorm of books. ‘’MY, MY, MY! What is this, Riddle? A little bit of light reading in your spare time while you’re drugging unsuspecting purebloods?’’

Abraxas tells Tom not to take her words to heart. Then, as Walburga continues and Tom clenches his hands to the side into fists, unable to stop himself from exhibiting a reaction – Abraxas gets an idea. ‘’Stop this. Or else I will have to duel you as Tom’s reparation.’’

‘’Let him duel me himself.’’ Walburga challenges.

Abraxas smiles, aware of how things go. ‘’A mudblood? Duelling you? Why, your father will have him expelled in a matter of seconds. No, I shall duel you. Thoros will be my second.’’

‘’Will he? Taren Nott is my father’s lapdog.’’

‘’Luck would have it that Thoros is my _friend_. Friends trump lap dogs any day.’’ Abraxas then turns to Tom and winks at him. ‘’I shall settle this matter for you. Walburga will not be able to speak to you like this any longer. Might you write me a poem, then?’’

‘’If you survive.’’ Tom blushes. ‘’Since you use unforgivable as party tricks, I fear you may not survive to hear it.’’

Abraxas laughs. His dimples show. Tom does not swoon. He refuses to.

Walburga interjects. ‘’Unforgivables are disallowed at Hogwarts grounds.’’

‘’They are disallowed bleeding everywhere, **_Jesus_**.’’ Tom whispers, lapsing into cockney for a moment.

‘’No need to get your panties in a twist, Riddle. Your little beau will fail and I shall prove once and for all that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black prevails.’’ Walburga almost spits at the ground, but good breeding disallows it. ‘’Snogging a mudblood, Abraxas, have you no shame?’’

Tom Riddle, a prude among hedonists, finds himself in an even more precarious position than previously believed. He inches out of the viewpoint of these two pent up purebloods with privilege rolling off of their shoulders in bountiful abundance. ‘’Give me the book back. I need to put it on the shelf.’’ Tom tries his best not to allow Walburga to know how much power she has to have that book in her hands. That if she sees what he has just read she can ruin him as she has wished for years. His hands do not shake. They dare not shake. He disallows them to shake. This is not the orphanage where all he has on the stake is his dinner or his comfort – this is the magical world where Walburga can and shall, if the opportunity arises, make his life end.

The worst possible situation that an overthinking mind can come up with does not measure up to what happens to Tom Riddle in the restricted section with a man he somewhat – all right a bit more than somewhat – fancies and a woman that he absolutely horrendously loathes and wants as far away possible from him.

‘’You ought to tell your little mudblood, Abraxas, that Blacks are natural legilimens. Look, he’s paling! You’re almost the same shade!’’ Walburga cracks open the book and reads the horcrux method aloud, no dignity, no shame, no fear for anything as arcane as this. She is a Black and she is untouchable.

Tom Riddle’s knees are weak for a wildly different reason to why they were weak prior. He has to hold onto Abraxas, who remains hell bent ready to duel for Tom and his sakes. Walburga grins up at Tom and says: ‘’Who would you use? If you allow me to watch I won’t say a word.’’

‘’Say a word about us snogging?’’ Abraxas remains out of the loop.

Tom takes the book away from Walburga and hands it to Abraxas. He may as well know. He is shaking. His spit tastes like acid. Mrs. Cole, in a weirdly morbid moment of deep-thought, comes to him and says: This is all because you are unnatural, because you might be queer, because you are evil-born. You killed your mother and you killed Billy Stubbs’ rabbit and you killed those children, drowned them, and relished when nobody spoke to you.

‘’Can you really do this?’’ Abraxas asks. His voice is strained. Tom is breathing heavily, panting for a moment of reprieve from the thoughts that keep overriding his brain.

‘’Do what?’’

‘’Kill someone.’’ Abraxas hisses. ‘’Could you do it?’’

‘’Of course he could!’’

‘’Let’s put it to the test, then!’’

Through a series of events, Tom Riddle becomes immortal. Myrtle Warren not only gets killed, she gets eaten by the Basilisk. Walburga becomes implicated in this murder. Abraxas and she do duel, but for vastly different circumstances.

Tom Riddle, immortal and suddenly better off due to his halfbloodedness coming to light, gets saddled with the company of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. A very warped and unfortunately organized Golden Trio.

‘’We don’t have to do anything!’’ Walburga says. ‘’The girl has been eaten. She was killed in the Chamber where no one saw anything. We’re sworn to secrecy because if any of us speak all of us will be ruined. Why are we overthinking this?’’

Myrtle Warren’s ghost appears a couple of days later.

‘’This is why.’’ Tom Riddle hisses. ‘’She’s dead and there will be an inquiry.’’

Abraxas, still the most unfortunately emotional of the trio, is sweating profusely at all of this. ‘’I should write my dad to see what we can do. There has to be something? I’m too young for Azk-‘’ Tom places his hand over his mouth and tells him not to speak. There is no need for anyone to overhear. They all stay away from the Chamber and the place where Myrtle Warren’s ghost has emerged from to haunt the upstairs lavatory and moan about. She cannot remember who attacked her, but she knows it was something magical.

Walburga, also prefect of Slytherin like Tom Riddle, happens to be doing rounds when she spots their perfect scapegoat. ‘’Ickie giant boy,’’ she all but sneers, ‘’what have you got there?’’

It’s an acromantula.

Abraxas writes a letter.

* * *

Meanwhile

Hyperion Malfoy tries to fend off an attack against his sister, his great-something-grandfather, all while his grandmother is chatting up his brother-in-law and trying to get him to eat something.

‘’DARLING,’’ Sevin’s voice is the loudest, ‘’DON’T YOU DARE ACCEPT ANYTHING SHE HAS TO OFFER YOU!’’

Charles Smith gives his wife a thumbs up and kindly declines. Artemis then tries to intimidate him about ways she can make him wish he’d accepted the proffered food and drink. Charles then sighs deeply and says that even if he wanted to eat what she was offering, he couldn’t. ‘’I’m diabetic and this is bad for me.’’

‘’Smart, smart sister to marry someone immune to the wiles of fairies.’’ Hyperion says, his wand out and a spell ready to fire off at any moment. His moustache is singed. Sevin does not fuck around.

‘’I married him because he makes me laugh not because he’s diabetic, Hyperion!’’

Artemis ups the ante, so to speak. She brings Charles freshly baked bread that is mouth-watering. Only the strongest of the strong could say no. Charles happens to be built different entirely. ‘’I would accept this, too, were I not a celiac.’’

This halts the duel. Ferand himself is confused. Visible confusion decorates every Malfoys face. ‘’The fuck is a **_celiac_**?’’

Sevin uses knock-back on Hyperion. It is most effective. ‘’It means he can’t have wheat products!’’

Artemis who is holding a beer and just about to offer it thinks better and spills it to the ground.

‘’What can I offer this man?’’

Ferand shrugs. ‘’Wine?’’

Sevin hits him. ‘’Stop helping her, you’re helping me!’’

‘’I can’t have wine due to my grape allergy.’’

‘’WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE EAT, THEN? DOES HE PHOTOSYNTHESISE? HOW DOES HE SURVIVE, SEVIN, WITHOUT WINE, BREAD, AND SWEETS?! NEXT THING YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME HE CANNOT DRINK MILK?’’

Charles deems this the appropriate moment to tell them of his lactose intolerance.

Ferand and Artemis, by this point, don’t want anything to do with Charles. ‘’Take him.’’ Both say to Sevin. ‘’You have married a disgrace. We hope, for your own sake, that he is an artist in bed. As he has been found lacking at the dinner table.’’

‘’Is free verse becoming a thing?’’ Sevin pokes fun, well aware that they must truly be shaken to not rhyme in the face of such a goldmine of an opportunity like roasting Charles Smith.

Hyperion gets told by an elf that he has a letter from Abraxas. It asks about acromantulas. ‘’My son has made a friend. Sister, stay around here for a bit and we can talk. I have missed you.’’

‘’The feeling is not mutual.’’ Sevin says.

Charles gently elbows her. ‘’She misses you terribly.’’

Hyperion scrunches up his half-singed face gleefully and says, his voice full of merry cheer. ‘’Is that so? I love you, Sevin. Your absence has caused me so much grief.’’

Sevin narrows her eyes. ‘’If I were to see you never, it would be too soon.’’

‘’We mention you once a week and talk about you in only the best light. She is, in fact, very happy to be here.’’ Charles opens up everybody’s secrets.

Hyperion pats Charles on the back and tells him. ‘’You are welcome in my home any day. You are not only a wise artist, with a weird diet, but you are also an incredible translator.’’

‘’Bring your kid over we want to meet him.’’ Sevin says, gesturing to the fairies as well.

‘’I couldn’t do that without all of you present. I don’t want anyone feeling left out.’’ The very last thing Hyperion needs is the first fairy relation to the Malfoys to become enraged at being left out and to curse Abraxas Malfoy how Maleficent did in Sleeping Beauty. Hyperion has read a lot of questionable material to Abraxas growing up. The magical stories are absolute garbage, to be fair.

‘’I didn’t even know something like a celiac existed?’’ Artemis is still coming to terms with this abominable creation.

Ferand shudders. ‘’Next thing he’ll tell us is he can’t have gluten.’’

Charles takes this opportune moment to share a little bit about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you caught my Foil Arms and Hog joke. Also, Happy New Year to you all!
> 
> I moved countries so I honestly don't know when I will update


	4. Griselda Malfoy

Hagrid does not take the fall for Myrtle Warren’s death. Professor Kettleburn says that while the effect of an acromantula’s venom is similar to what has befallen Myrtle Warren. On her body there are no puncture wounds. Not to mention that that would not explain away the petrifications _anyhow_.

For the first time the teaching staff at Hogwarts looks at professor Kettleburn and sees an academic expert in his field, if not lucky at dealing with the magical animals.

Dumbledore, always quick to defend a Gryffindor, seconds this awfully fast.

But the vote that comes unexpectedly for Tom is when professor Merrythought agrees. She glances his way, then, as if she knows some things that no one else does and Tom is very, very afraid. He kind of feels like a boy whose mother has caught him with cookie crumbs all over his mouth. But since he’s an orphan he can only make interesting similes.

Abraxas Malfoy is going to vomit. He does not take stress very well.

Walburga Black, the one that’s suggested Hagrid as the scapegoat, isn’t faring any better. She becomes as pale as a Malfoy. ’’I am _not_ going to Azkaban.’’

’’No, your father owns Azkaban.’’

’’My ancestors built Azkaban, get it right. They relinquished their rights to the property after one too many dementor attacks made it unviable for profit.’’

Tom doesn’t know how to answer that. So he doesn’t.

What he does do is leave Walburga and Abraxas and go to sit with Nobby Leach. He needs someone down to earth.

’’Did you kill her?’’ Nobby Leach asks him while they’re sitting down on a bench outside of the castle. They’re close to the forest. It’s their place to collude and talk.

Tom is beginning to think that his ego needs curbing since, obviously, he isn’t the smartest man in this castle anymore. ’’Did you divine it from a tea cup?’’ They’re drinking tea. Nobby’s pretending to be practising divination.

’’No, I divined it from Walburga’s newfound friendship with you. I mean, I know I told you to try and be friends with them – but being murder buddies isn’t REALLY what I had in mind.’’

 _'’Leach_.’’

 _’’Mate_.’’

Tom Riddle sighs deeply and embeds his fingernails into his skull. He does not draw blood. ’’What do you want for your silence?’’

’’Nothing.’’ Nobby Leach says. ’’I just want to know the circumstances. Did she force you into it? Why her?’’

Tom says that he can’t tell him.

And then Nobby Leach promises on his magic that he won’t tell a soul. Tom snorts. ’’Magic means nothing to you. You can make your own way as a muggle or a wizard. Swear on something you actually care about.’’ Then Tom laughs. ’’Swear on God.’’

After careful deliberation. Nobby Leach swears on God. Tom Riddle spills his secrets, all the while holding his wand and being ready to obliviate Leach. It never comes to that.

’’Make it up to me, o immortal fiend, introduce me to prefect Sullivan.’’

Prefect Sullivan is the Hufflepuff prefect. If she continues going down her academic path she will be Head Girl to Tom’s future Head Boy.

’’You like Mandy?’’ Tom and Mandy are on a first name basis.

’’She talks _beautifully_.’’ Nobby Leach is smitten.

’’She has an Irish accent that’s so thick I don’t think even people in Ireland can understand her.’’

* * *

Nobby is introduced to Mandy.

Mandy doesn’t like him because he’s not catholic.

Tom laughs when Nobby comes to him to whinge about the woes of being in love with someone who can never love them back and please, won’t you intervene Tom? She trusts you.

Mandy tells Tom that she fancies Nobby, but she doesn’t want to give in so quickly.

Tom doesn’t tell Nobby that. Let the man struggle a bit. He and Mandy laugh behind his back about it.

* * *

Hyperion doesn’t get any letters from his very much terrified and stressed out son. He doesn’t think anything of it. ’’Probably he has a girlfriend to snog or someone else.’’

Artemis demands she meet him in the summer. Ferand seconds this. The Smiths pass the movement.

* * *

Meanwhile Abraxas Malfoy is trying to figure out how he can befriend the dementors in Azkaban. ’’Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, no no I can’t do this. I need to fix this.’’ And in his desperation he comes up with a plan that not even a desperate soul ought to resort to.

He goes to find Walburga and Tom to let them know. 

* * *

’’I will have to invite _Her_ , you understand.’’ Hyperion says to the fairies present in his home. ’’She will not be pleased to not be invited. She may curse my son. I know she cursed me.’’

’’She curses everyone. It’s how she shows love.’’ Sevin jokes. ’’She cursed me not to be able to love women. For some strange reason she thought that would be a tragedy.’’

’’That _is_ a tragedy.’’ Her husband says.

’’Women _are_ overrated.’’ Hyperion says.

They’re drinking, casually. Nonchalantly. The Malfoys are the type of family that can’t be sober and show affection. Not, at least, after the trauma all of them have suffered. And these are the type of people that are hush-hush about any misgivings they may have about life. Only between each other can they feel safe to speak, but because of the situation with disownment and familial exile, even that’s not an option. If they are to repair their relationship, alcohol will be a given.

Artemis and Ferand stuff their faces with baked goods. They just tell Hyperion that it’s better for Her to meet Abraxas on their terms than her own. ’’Your boy not being introduced to her is a slight that she will not be kind to forget.’’

’’Bet.’’ Ferand says.

’’I know.’’ Hyperion rubs his eyes. ’’I know.’’

’’What did she curse you with again?’’

’’To die young.’’ Hyperion answers.

’’You’re doing a banged up job not dying young.’’ Ferand laughs.

’’Be mindful of your tongue!’’ Artemis hits him on the shoulder and laughs.

* * *

Abraxas Malfoy, Walburga Black, and Tom Riddle go into the trenches of the Forest next to Hogwarts. It is not Forbidden in their time, merely mildly disallowed. It is their actions that come about tongiht that will make the Forest forbidden and it’s a legacy to uphold, to be sure.

All of the children, and they are still children, look between each other. Abraxas holds a book he’s gotten from the library with Tom’s help. It is a book about fairies and their trees. Surely, in this forest in such magically potent ground, there is a tree with a fairy connected to it.

* * *

Merrythought is not a bloody idiot. She is actually a genius, thank you very much. And she is very aware of the things happening around her. Especially when they concern children in her care. So, she follows these dumb, impulsive children who are all geniuses without a lick of awareness and emotional intelligence. Those come with time. For now they are greedy and idiotic.

* * *

Summoning a fairy from a fairy tree without any prior preparation is like throwing yourself in traffic and hoping for the best.

The unseelie fairy that comes out of the tree is not a kind and conscious driver who hits the breaks on time. She is a double decker bus that will double deck you into the ground for your impertinence. Her name is Griselda Malfoy and she is the very first fairy to marry into the Malfoy family.

In fact, it is her mark that all of the Malfoys wear. Her platinum hair is down to her knees, plaited in intricate braids that haven’t been used in centuries. Her skin is as fair as any Malfoy after her, and her eyes are the stark silver no Malfoy has ever reached, having been made more and more human with each passing generation. Armand Malfoy’s death no one mentions, but every Malfoy knows that it is Griselda Malfoy’s doing. The deed is too despicable to speak about.

Abraxas recognizes her from a portrait he’s seen in Malfoy Manor. The scream that wants to tear itself out of his throat dies before it may do so because Griselda pounces on him with claws sharper than the freshest of knives.

Her hand falls and Abraxas screams through the pain, having never felt anything so destructive in his sheltered life.

Tom Riddle takes his wand and attacks, without thinking, one murder under his belt, and what is another to save someone that cares for him?

Killing a human girl via basilisk is one thing. Killing a fairy via one’s own ability is a wholly different matter. The former is successful. The latter gives Griselda the opportunity to not only shred Tom Riddle’s yew wand, but, also, to cut his throat to ribbons and have him bleed out.

Unfortunately for Griselda, she cannot kill what is immortal.

Unfortunately for Tom, bleeding out and choking on his own blood is a shit experience.

Walburga Black is paralysed with fear and it is only Abraxas’ screaming that sends her into an impulsive frenzy. She gathers stones into her hands and throws them towards Griselda, screaming at her. ’’STOP IT! GET AWAY! YOU CAN’T DO THAT!’’

Griselda leaves Abraxas and Tom, focusing her attention on Walburga’s small attack. It does not hinder her. It angers her, it engulfs her in a rage that Walburga has never seen in her life. She pales and it is only her being human and not fairy that stops her from being the same shade of fair. She cannot move. And she wants to. O how she wants to run away and leave these two to their deaths. It is her hubris and her need to push people past self restraint and control that has gotten her into this position, that has made Tom into a murderer, and Abraxas into a scared, dying thing.

An attack comes.

The fairy’s mouth splits in half as agony tumbles out of her ripped apart jaw, her eyes sparking with merciless pain.

’’Get the fuck away from my weans.’’ Professor Galatea Merrythought, Head of Hufflepuff House, Previous Deputy Headmistress, Really Inkling to Retire, Nonchalantly Badass, Happily Married, shouts at the fairy and prepares another spell to attack the fairy with. ’’Are you blind?’’ She continues to antagonize the fairy, who is struggling to stand. ’’That’s your kin!’’ She motions Abraxas Malfoy and demands: ’’Heal him or else face the wrath of your descendants.’’

’’I had not met anyone new.’’

’’A mistake of Hyperion’s not to invite you.’’

’’I shall use his entrails for my brew.’’ Griselda’s healing herself, noticing that Galatea is not attacking, cautioning her into thinking and dealing with this through conversation.

’’Whose? The boy’s or Hyperion’s?’’ Galatea knows better than to Name Abraxas in front of the fairy. She has not been formally introduced to him. Therefore there is a chance that she may take this as an invitation to steal him away. He is hers, through other channels.

’’Hyperion’s guts.’’ Griselda glances at Abraxas and Tom and sneers: _’’Mutts_.’’

’’Heal the boy.’’ Galatea demands yet again, charging her wand through intent to cause the fairy great pain. ’’I will not be lenient if you do not heal him and his friend whose neck you have torn.’’

Walburga stands behind Galatea, looking at her professor in awe and feeling as small as a pea underneath dozens of mattresses.

Griselda asks: ’’What is it to me? They have not invited me. This boy is nobody. Especially this one here, he is without soul in a body.’’

Galatea sighs disappointedly at Tom. ’’You and I, lad, we’re going to have a _conversation_.’’

Tom Riddle, still kind of bleeding out yet not dying, is going through it. He’s holding in the blood with his hands over his throat and pleading with Galatea to have her do something.

Finally Galatea tells Griselda: ’’Heal your kin. Curse him for his impertinence or what have you, but make sure he survives this and lives for however long he is meant to live.’’

Griselda looks at Abraxas, fading, fading, fading. She scoffs and bends down to him, mindful how alert Galatea is. She places her clawed hand against the wounds she’s inflicted Abraxas with, mutters magic under her breath, and heals him. Throughout this ordeal she keenly notices how much Abraxas is looking at Tom, fearful, scared for his life rather than his own. It’s precious. It’s obvious.

’’I curse you.’’ Griselda Malfoy speaks to Abraxas, only so high that he hears her. ’’I curse you, Malfoy,’’

’’Abraxas Malfoy.’’ Abraxas introduces himself, offering his hand to her. Griselda is charmed. For a moment she sees a man that is blonde, but not platinum, with a penchant for causing so much trouble that he has been exiled from France into going to an island to start anew. She sees Armand and her heart accelerates with fond glee. He has introduced himself, aware of what a name means. She will not misuse this.

She leans forward and whispers, careful now in her newfound fondness for him. ’’And his name? If you tell it to me I will heal his wounds.’’

’’Tom Riddle.’’ Abraxas says at the same time as Galatea goes: ’’None of your business what his name is.’’

’’I curse you Abraxas Malfoy and Tom Riddle that while you remain like you are now, you will be full of suffering and pain. Never to be happy with each other, or another ever again.’’

With such parting words, Griselda leaves through the earth underneath them, infused with magic of olde, having both cursed her kin, traumatized a witch, and beaten up an immortal being.

Tom Riddle falls to the ground next to Abraxas and tells him that he is never to be in charge of any planning whatsoever. ’’You madman,’’ Tom hoarsely says, his throat healed, but not without consequence, left here as a reminder. ’’You deeply deranged fool.’’

’’A fool you fancy?’’ Abraxas winks.

Tom blushes.

Professor Galatea Merrythought coughs to get their attention. ’’You best bet, Mr. Malfoy, that your father will hear about this.’’

Abraxas pulls Tom into a kiss and says that he’s survived the most terrifying part of his family. ’’Compared to my greatest grandmother, dad isn’t scary.’’

* * *

Hyperion Malfoy can be very scary while he’s dressing down Abraxas with his aunt whom he’s met for the first time that day.

While the Malfoys are cornering their youngest and explaining to him the actual consequences and repercussions of his actions, Merrythought is regarding Tom Riddle expectantly.

Tom is pretending he doesn’t understand what’s expected of him.

’’Fine,’’ Merrythought is a sort of no nonsense professor Tom adores, ’’I shall start.’’

Thus begins Merrythought’s explanation into the horrifying world that Tom Riddle has gotten himself into. She offers him her hand and says, against her better judgement, but because of the love she has for this boy she wishes was her son: ’’Make me an unbreakable vow.’’

’’I am not of age.’’ Tom takes a step back.

’’No,’’ Merrythought agrees. ’’Yet you would be tried as an adult were I to tell anyone of what you have done to Myrtle Warren. Walburga will not speak. It is bad enough that she has been caught fraternizing with the Fair Folk, but to be implicated in your business? That scandal is not something her family will be keen to forgive. Now, do me a favour, will you.’’ Merrythought shakes her hand as a prompt to hurry. ’’Do it. Make me a vow that you will never make another horcrux. It tears the mind, Mr. Riddle.’’

Tom reluctantly shakes Merrythought’s hand and feels that his life is set in stone. He glances at Abraxas, who is rolling his eye and petulantly explaining that the situation was a fluke and that otherwise he’d have had everything under control. ’’It’s your fault for not introducing me to her earlier! Now I’m cursed to never be with Tom and it’s your fault!’’

Hyperion isn’t inclined to allow an upstart arriviste into his family to begin with. ’’This is all for your own good, you know!’’

’’We understand each other on a level you’ll never know!’’ Abraxas shouts and stomps his foot against the ground.

Hyperion looks at Sevin for help. She shrugs.

’’The fairies have decided.’’

’’Ugh!’’ Abraxas refuses to abide by fairies and divination. He is an arithmancy man through and through.

Sevin, the accountant of her and her husband’s farm, is inclined to agree with Abraxas. ’’It doesn’t _necessarily_ mean you can’t be together. Your father has not taught you the ways of their language. She was being kind with the curse. I shall teach you to decipher their words. I hear letters and phrases do not come easily to you.’’

Abraxas Malfoy quirks up a brow, looks smugly at his father, and grins. ’’I like my aunt.’’

Hyperion is both pleased and scared to hear this.


	5. Abraxas and Tom Malfoy

The Wedding of Abraxas Malfoy and Tom Riddle is a sight to behold. Mostly because, as anyone that has ever been graced by the presence of the former knows, Abraxas Malfoy is very obstinate when it comes to things of a stylistic choice. For the more important things, the one that require logistics he will leave such matters to Tom, who’s known how to budget since the first moment someone’s given him a penny.

However. And this word is important. How ev er. Abraxas Malfoy, in this one regard where he knows he is unbeatable, will require you to do everything as he has planned it out, to the detail he has specified, no matter how inane it may be. If you do not comply to these wishes, you will be blacklisted not only by the Malfoy family and any business they may have with weddings in the future, but so will you be blacklisted by the other Sacred Twenty Eight.

Because while Walburga Black is important politically.

No one wants to have Abraxas’ pettiness aimed their way. And if he says that a wedding planner is finished, then that wedding planner may as well be done for life. They may, of course, choose another profession as long as it does not entail meeting up with Malfoys in any stylistic battle. They will never win.

Abraxas Malfoy, by the time he is old enough to marry Tom truly and bind their lives in harmony, has not only 5, not 10, not 15, by gods not even 25 – but 55 peafowls!

His final form, of course, is having 125 peafowls. But that comes later, somewhere in the 90s when both Tom and Abraxas will be old retired men scheming together how to best set up Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Alas, their scheming will be for naught because that boy isn’t straight and she’s not straight either, but it’ll take her a little while to get there and accept herself. That’s what happens when you idolize Thatcher, Hermione. Your road to sexual self-discovery is plagued by convincing yourself you only love men and adoring the freedom and non-commitment of long-distance relationships that you have with a certain Vitkor Krum, who’s an overall good sport.

But let’s backtrack for a moment.

It’s the day before the wedding and Tom Riddle has disappeared.

Abraxas Malfoy knows that that fucker is both too invested in Abraxas to up and leave without saying a word, but he, also, unfortunately knows that Tom Riddle’s internalized homophobia resurfaces at the most inconvenient of times.

Fortunately for Abraxas, no, Tom hasn’t decided he doesn’t like men right before his wedding.

Unfortunately for Abraxas, yes, Tom’s life is a shitshow because of that one time he’s made his horcrux and angered Death well enough into deciding that Alexio’s plan to kidnap Tom and shank him a couple of times – HONESTLY – doesn’t sound **_TOO_** BAD.

Death is above pettiness. Death is above human emotion. Death does not care.

Via Alexio, she shanks Tom Riddle a couple of times, tells him off for thinking he can avoid dying, gives him the duty to be Alexio’s helper in the sense that if anyone else gets the idea of making a horcrux both of them have to work their best to get that person to dissolve the process. In exchange she’ll let him keep the horcrux.

Tom, shanked the day before his wedding and given a job opportunity by his greatest fear, well- Tom’s going through a lot.

BUT IS HE COMPLAINING **_THOUGH_**?

 _NO, KIND SIR_! HE DOES **NOT** COMPLAIN!

Being Abraxas’ impulse control has taught him not to complain openly or else Abraxas will concoct solutions that are worse than the regular situation.

Tom goes back to Malfoy Manor and explains to Abraxas about his day.

Abraxas says that that’s not as bad as what their florist did to their FUCKED FLOWER ARRANGEMENTS. ’’STRIPED CARNATIONS, TOM! WHAT AM I? A LESBIAN THAT’S UNHAPPILY MARRIED TO A MAN?!’’

’’I don’t know Abraxas.’’ Tom sighs, too in love with this man to back out now. ’’No, you don’t look like a lesbian.’’

Abraxas stops his rant to look at his tired soon to be husband. He snorts laughter. ’’Let’s get you to bed to sleep this off. You were healed?’’

’’As if I didn’t get stabbed a couple of times.’’

’’GOOD. Death is considerate of your responsibilities tomorrow.’’

’’I’m going to add to my vows that you’re too pushy.’’

’’We’ve known each other for over ten years, Tom, and only know you come to realise it?’’

* * *

Abraxas’s witness is Thoros Nott. Walburga Black invites herself into the ceremony somehow. Nobody dares to tell her she can’t be an additional witness.

Tom’s witness is Nobby Leach. Mandy Leach says that if the Noble and Most Bitchy House of Black can invite herself into the ceremony then she can do so as well.

Hyperion’s crying during the ceremony. He’s bawling his eyes out with his sister and brother-in-law. The fairies are absent, though they have sent their little blessings of the union.

Artemis blesses any children they may want to bring into the world. Ferand blesses them with an open mind and that’s a bit terrifying because fairies can be literal. For a couple of days Tom and Abraxas check each other’s scalps to see if there are any tears. There aren’t.

Griselda, that cantankerous minx, she curses Tom and Abraxas – again – with a curse that they are unable to perform for anyone other than them. It’s a bit sweet. But very troubling since Ferand’s blessing has made them a lot more polyandrous than firstly anticipated. The Leach couple do look fetching together.

Ah, yes, Hyperion actually meets Nobby Leach while he’s in a linen closet in Malfoy Manor screwing his wife. He closes the door and apologizes for the interruption.

He does make out Mandy Leach saying: ’’Let’s deface rich property with our muddy blood –’’

And Nobby Leach whispering: ’’Oh sweet lord _I love you Mandy_.’’

So, yeah, definitely an occurrence.

The peacocks attack Walburga Black’s goose. For those of you who are not aware, the member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black whose name happens to be Walburga Black has a goose named Geb. It just never seems to come up and the author is sad to have to establish this lore in a side-story, because whenever I’ve tried to cram it into the main story it’s just seemed out of place.

But, yes, Walburga has a goose.

Orion gets seduced by Elektra and Thoros Nott.

Not in a closet, mind. They take him back to their place.

* * *

Abraxas Malfoy gets into cocaine. Because, honestly, that’s just such an Abraxas thing to do.

This time no Ministers die.

Hyperion Malfoy demands he goes to therapy and rehab.

Tom Riddle, seeing what happens when you don’t go to therapy and live for a long time like Alexio, realises that oooof he should go to therapy, too.

It’s a much calmer time around.

All is well.

Well, honestly, not really. There are so many ups and downs with these two that anyone else would have left so many times because of the sheer audacity and chaos of them – but these two fools have found each other and decided to stay. Also, their communication skills this time around? Chef’s kiss, folks. It’s just immaculate. Good for them. They deserve healthy communication.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy is born because during a trip to Lesbos, Abraxas meets Antoinette Mercier who thinks she wants to have a kid to raise with her wife Lilith. Abraxas thinks that that’s an interesting proposition and they come to an accord.

Lilith asks Tom if he plays an instrument. ’’Queer Quartet, come on. It’s hilarious.’’ She nudges him with her elbow.

Tom smiles forcefully. ’’I just don’t see it.’’

* * *

Dumbledore? Still a little bitch.

Not at all relevant to the lives of Tom and Abraxas Malfoy. The way they’ve interpreted Griselda’s curse from all of those years ago is that only one of them needs to change their surname in order to have a wonderful and fulfilling life. Tom, what with hating his background, decides to marry into the family. It’s a lot simpler than anyone would think it would be. Tom’s toxic masculinity’s practically non-existent when pitted against pragmatism.

* * *

Tom gets a cat.

Wellllll

As anyone with a cat knows, a person never actually gets a cat. The cat just shows up.

It’s this disgustingly ugly orange thing he names Nosferatu. He gives him to Hermione and she renames him Crookshanks.

* * *

Tom’s depressingly sad need for validation and his necessity to teach others manifests in him becoming Hermione’s main source of knowledge outside of the trusted and safely curated academic books in Hogwarts. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s quite pleased with his position.

She calls him dad by accident once and Tom’s so achingly fond of her after that.

Hermione’s parents love being empty nesters. A little too much one might say.

Tom doesn’t mind!

Abraxas does. He goes up to them on an occasion and gives them a verbal lashing they will never forget. Oh, but wait, they do. Tom obliviates them because he doesn’t want this fallout to cause Hermione trouble.

* * *

Hermione begins dating Viktor. She loves it. She breaks up with him after a while because it just doesn’t seem right to settle so soon.

Then she dates a colleague of hers she meets abroad while she’s doing research for her dissertation. A lot of mixed feelings about whether or not she likes women arise.

She breaks up with her _too_.

Runs into Ron, who’s in some sort of polycule with Neville and Harry. They hit it off. They date. Hermione asks if she’s dating Neville and Harry, then – they make a graph of who’s dating whom just so there aren’t any confusing moments anymore.

Hermione can appreciate a finely made graph.

Astoria Greengrass knows she likes women. She’s very efficient and expeditive when she sees that Hermione’s ready to leave this polycule on mutual terms with everybody – because Hermione’s the type of person who’s grown emotionally a lot after school and she knows that in a relationship people don’t have to be villains. It’s not a requirement. Sometimes it’s better to be friends and that’s okay.

But still, Astoria Greengrass comes up to Hermione Granger and says, plainly: ‘’Do you want to have the best sex of your life?’’

Hermione balks a little bit. She’s working on her third dissertation by the point this conversation happens and that sounds a lot more pleasant than making sure her citations have been put in correctly. ‘’I would like that.’’

* * *

Draco Malfoy, fink by profession, kind friend off working hours, becomes an expatriate. What he does abroad is nobody’s business. But it does have a lot to do with vampires and conferences.

His greatest feat is unmasking Gilderoy Lockhart for the fraud he is. Someone gives Draco a medal for academic integrity. Hermione hates this, the competitive fiend that she is.

Draco, well into his thirties, flaunts it every time he and Hermione speak through fire call.

* * *

Walburga dies.

People mourn her. They’re scared not to.

* * *

Tom worries that Abraxas will die. And he will die one day. But for now he will cherish every moment he has with him.

‘’What if I make a horcrux? I mean, I want to see what it’s like to be shanked by actual Death.’’ Abraxas Malfoy has forever been, remains, and will forever be a chaotic bloody fool with a penchant for not caring about the words he says.

Tom breathes out of his nose laughter that he feels will choke him if he lets it out of his mouth. ‘’You incredible man. How I love you.’’

Abraxas melts and scrunches up his face fondly at his husband of many a decade. ‘’I know you do. I love you, too, Tom.’’

They kiss.


End file.
